


Ψiioniic ==> Wonder

by twii2ted_8333335



Series: Homestuck Sexcanons [22]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boys Kissing, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Kissing, M/M, Massages, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pale-Red Vacillation, Psionics, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, Wet Dream, Xeno, Xenobiology, hornjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3850243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You often do wonder. You wonder about whether or not your life would have gone differently if you hadn't joined with the Signless.</p>
<p>You often wonder about Signless and the Disciple, if they're really happy with each other.</p>
<p>You wonder if he has a few flush implications heading your way too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ψiioniic ==> Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a 200~400 word drabble  
> It took four days to write and I'm pretty sure it's more than 1000 words   
> Whooooops  
> Based off [this](http://homestucksexcanons.tumblr.com/post/49018386474) and [this~](http://homestucksexcanons.tumblr.com/post/45839639377)

You often do wonder. You wonder about whether or not your life would have gone differently if you hadn't joined with the Signless or if you were destined to end up in the Condesce's ship. Maybe you could've been somewhere more low key, not as powerful. You don't regret joining him but you do wonder. You wonder if he would have succeeded had you not joined. If he could have lasted longer. If he could have overthrown the tyrannical fuchsiablood. 

You often wonder about Signless and the Disciple. Their love that transcends definition. You wonder if they're really happy with each other. They look it, you don't doubt it; you just wonder sometimes. You wonder if you could've been the one with an indescribable love with your leader instead of her. 

You're not jealous. You didn't even really want him like that until after you all had died, until you bumped into him in the dream bubbles and you spent nearly a sweep catching up, dressing and healing both physical and mental wounds. You didn't really feel flush for him until you realized being pale just wasn't what you wanted. You wonder if maybe it was doomed to be that way from the start. 

You wonder if maybe your flush feelings came from the touches. Being pale, he would touch you often, calm you down and destress your body. He likes to give you massages and you enjoy them greatly. His hands tend to get friendly though and you tend to get aroused more than you ever care to admit from all the relaxing stimulus. You really do wonder if your heart implications came from the want for more of those touches, more of him. 

You wonder how he knows when you were stressed. He's admitted that you never outwardly show signs of tension but he still knows when to press his hands on your shoulders, to squeeze and pull and tug at your clothes and your body until you're laying in a pile, weak-kneed and purring. Your psionics crackle quietly around your horns, content little pops filling the silence. His hands are so warm on your skin and so big and you let out a too loud groan when he loosens this knot under your shoulder blade with his palm. 

You wonder if he has a few flush implications heading your way too. Just out of instinct even, because there's some times when his hands wander a little farther up and massage at your scalp then stroke at your horns. The bigger ones at first, which has you panting and, embarrassingly enough, has your bulges twisting and twining around each other somewhere in the pile. Then he moves to the smaller ones and your bulges convulse, your nook clenches and throbs painfully. Your psionics go crazy, crackling and zapping gently at his hands. You have enough control to keep them from doing major damages but at this rate who knows how long that'll last?

"Oh, God, SF..." You wonder briefly if it bothers him that you use his post death acronym, the one given to him over the sweeps, but you don't think he does because in response he rubs the tip of your small horns in unison, practically rewarding you for saying his name at all. You half sob, shoving a hand in the pile to grab your bulges' bases, trying to keep from coming. You don't want it to end yet.

And then he stops. His hands pull away and you make this awful whimper because you legitimately need this now. You wonder if you should've come when you had the chance now, afraid that he's going to leave you alone now, that this is too much for him. 

To your surprise, what he does is flip you on the pile, your bulges squirming in the open air and reaching towards the warmth you feel radiating from his body looming over you. You see his eyes briefly look at your bulges and then back at your horns. They eventually meet your own. Heat rises to your face. You don't know how to react to this. You wonder if he even knows what he's doing because this is new. He knows you get aroused from this but he'll usually leave when he's done or sooner if he thinks you want to be alone to take care of it. He's never really _acknowledged_ that you get off on his touch, not this directly. You wonder what's changed his mind. 

He leans in closer but rather than going for your lips, he kisses at your horns, tongue gliding off the surface between them. He goes up the outer ones, then back down and does the same with the inner ones. They're still small enough that when his lips wrap around the tip and _suck_ , he practically envelopes the whole horn in his mouth. You cry out as you orgasm, unable to resist it after that. 

He doesn't stop at first, just continuously sucking and all around pleasuring you through your horns and you really have no idea how his mouth didn't get burned because you're almost certain your psionics went off a little when you came. When you whine a little in protest, he draws back, lips shining and wet. Your gazes meet again and there's a split second of silent agreement before he kisses you, slow and soft and you outright moan through it. It's as if a weight has been lifted from you, like when you first met up with him again and finally had somebody after being freed from the binds of the Helmsman. You felt like you'd surpassed a level in your relationship with him and it felt so _amazing_. 

"SF," you say his name in-between the quicker pressed kisses, hands struggling to find purchase in the fabric resting on his back, trying to keep him close, trying to him there. "God, SF — " you break off into a moaned curse as his lips attach to your neck, marking it up as relentlessly as he kissed you. "Signless, fuck, Sign — " you babble on, unable to fully comprehend anything that's going on now. All you know is that he's everywhere, all around you, making everything hotter, making the air thicker, making it harder to breathe. 

His one hand slips between you and presses against your nook, and you swear you can not spread your legs fast enough. Your bulges, eager and wanting again now, twine around his wrist, urging him to do something, anything. He looks back at you, nervous, unsure, but you nod and lift your hips towards his hand. "It's fine, it's fine, SF, SN, Signless, _please_ for fuck's sake — " 

Your mind blanks when he presses his fingers inside you. You tense up and you wonder what's going through his head because he looks so worried up until you relax and moan and press down on his fingers and moan again and again and _God_ he's got short, thick fingers that are just killing you. You're going to die here because as good as those fingers feel on your skin, they're divine inside you, and when he spreads them just a little, probably on accident, tremors wrack your body. It's so much, it's almost too much. You can't handle this. 

"S-stop — Sign — I'm gonna — fuck!" Your head tosses back as he just barely grazes a sensitive spot and you're close, you're so close, you just need a little more — 

He withdrawals his fingers from you and you swear to God, you're going to be the cause of his double death. You go to glare at him, growling as you do, and you watch his bulge twitch under his leggings. You watch it again as it's exposed to you, Signless' soaked fingers staining them as he takes his leggings off. You swallow, hard. Your nook throbs painfully. You wonder if that's why he stopped, to take this further, and you hope you're right. Now that you see it, you want it, more than you can describe. 

He wraps your legs around his waist, pressing his hips flush against yours. His bulge flicks over your nook. A pitiful whine falls from your lips as your head tilts back again, nook clenching sporadically. You need him, you need him so much it physically hurts. It hurts when he presses in finally but feels so absolutely perfect that you don't even care how sore your nook is or is going to be. And just like with his kisses, he's slow and gentle with his thrusts and progresses to the quick twitches of his hips. 

Neither of you are going to last. The warmth in the pit of your stomach isn't just from the heat of his bulge spreading through you and you can see it in the way he bites his lip, in the way his whiteout eyes get shiny with tears that he's close too. 

His hips draw back and you wonder why he's hesitating. You can just barely see the twitch of his muscles and the contortions of his facial expression as he seems to contemplate pulling out of you completely or staying in you. You try to help his decision along by pulling him closer with your legs again, raising your heavy arms to bury your hands deep in his hair, and tug him down into a kiss. It doesn't last long and you wonder only briefly if you conveyed your opinion to him well enough through such a vague action. A few moments later he's back inside you, pounding his hips to yours, trying to finish you both off. 

He seems so different in those last few minutes, like he's finally let go of himself. It only lasts until after you've both orgasmed because the moment he comes down from that high, he's gentle and caring and massaging your hips and thighs carefully. You wonder if it's worth confronting him about later. Your eyes sink quietly as you wonder and the world goes dark. 

When you wake again, Signless is still in the pile with you, quietly sleeping. He's facing away from you, fully clothed, and you don't fully understand why at first. Then you realize that your bulges are active again and there's no sign of material anywhere in the pile, not that you can find. You start flipping out again, wonder if he just cleaned up or —

Your shuffling around has your pilemate waking up, sleep evident around his eyes still. "Up already?" You stare at him, a pillow haphazardly thrown on your lap in an attempt to avoid embarrassment. "You fell asleep while I was massaging you this time and I didn't feel it appropriate to leave you alone. It wasn't so long ago actually. I had only just dozed off, or so it feels..." he continues on quietly, trying to figure out just how long he'd been asleep for. 

A dream. It had been a dream. 

You wonder why it hadn't clicked earlier. It seemed like a blaring fact now. 

A dream. 

_Fuck_.

**Author's Note:**

> PLOT TWIST HAH


End file.
